CHAPTER 151: FRESHERS’ BASH

CLARK POV:

My legs felt like jelly as I stood in the dim corridor, staring at Reed’s disappearing figure. He’d led me to the men’s dorm entrance, gave a curt yank on my arm, and then, almost casually, said:

"Mind your business, kid,"

Then turned and vanished.

And that was it. He let go of me, left me swaying there, dumbfounded. I looked down at my arm where he’d gripped me—it was tingling, almost numb, like a burning-bruised imprint. Was I supposed to thank him? I wondered.

His words echoed in my chest. "Mind your business, kid." My mind screamed: But I can’t; I saw something. I can’t just mind it.

Questions inflated in my chest. Was he involved with them? Were they a cult? Why the girl’s screams turned to moans when blonde guy sank his jaw into her wrist? No tears. No struggle. Just... surrender.

It took all my nerve to step into the corridor again. It felt colder, darker. That feeling, the one you get when you sense predator eyes on your spine—it crawled all over me.

I stumbled toward my room, footsteps heavy as guilt.

Inside, I found Lucas sprawled on his bunk, eyes closed. His bags were tossed across the mattress; clothing lay in odd angles. Leftovers of someone wrestling with emotions—or terror.

I leaned against the doorframe. How do you even begin this?

Finally I let it out: "I thought you left?"

He lifted his head slowly. His eyes looked haunted; insane laughter trembling at the edges of his lips.

"They wouldn’t let me."

I exhaled sharply. "Who wouldn’t?" The words came out jagged. I could feel the panic spike again.

He let out a laugh that wasn’t funny.

"They know. I know. I can’t escape. No one can."

That slammed into me like a door in the chest.

I pressed my lips together, unsure how—if—I should tell him what I saw: the girl, the moans, the blood. If I spoke, it would be real. It would confirm every fear.

Instead, I gingerly climbed onto the empty bunk next to his and lay as far away as the narrow space allowed. The mattress creaked under me like an echo of betrayal.

"I just need sleep," I told him, even though my words felt hollow. I closed my eyes, though my brain still raced—wild possibilities.

A soft hum beat in my ear. I heard Lucas shift. The window curtain fluttered with a breeze. Shadows hissed across the ceiling tiles. The world felt alive with quiet maliciousness.

And then Lucas spoke again, his voice low, brittle: "You not planning to go to that stupid fresher’s bash tonight, are you?" His tone brooked disbelief, like it was idiotic to attend.

"I told a friend I would go," I mumbled.

He glowered at me. "If you really love that friend—you both shouldn’t go."

That hit me hard. What was I supposed to say to Sara? She was thrilled. She’d picked out outfits, was bubbling with anticipation. Should I warn her that Lucas thinks the party is dangerous? That I saw a girl—maybe her—being fed on, moaning as her neck bled? I swallowed hard and looked away, pretending to sleep.

The room groaned in dormant tension. I clenched my thighs, refused to turn my head.

I’d wanted rest, but sleep felt like betrayal now. Every second without answers felt like unchanged complicit fear.

I lay on my back, staring at the flicker of light from the window. The ceiling tiles rattled again. The silence pressed.

Something brushed—did I hear footsteps? My eyes darted downward, but the room remained still.

But sleep didn’t come. Instead, darkness swallowed my mind and I found myself dreaming again—this time vivid. The girl on the desk was Sara’s face. Those same three guys massaged her limbs while the blonde bear-shouldered vampire latched onto her throat. He looked up and spotted me watching. His jaw dripped thick crimson ribbons as his pale lips parted in a smirk. I tried to scream. She moaned again. When the room blackened and cracked, I woke drenched in sweat. It was already evening.

Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor slurping instant noodles from a roadside cup. Noodles had never looked so mundane. My phone buzzed—it was Sara. I straightened quickly.

Lucas stared at me. His eyes saw something—fear, confusion.

I picked up, hands shaking.

"Clark? Where are you? Don’t tell me you bailed on me?" Her voice was bright, worried.

"Sara—I don’t think it’s a good idea going to the bash," I stammered.

Silence. Then muffled giggles. Other girls? I heard faint laughter.

"Is this some excuse because you don’t want to come?" she snapped.

Desperation twisted my gut.

"No—it’s serious. Don’t go. We shouldn’t go." My words tumbled out.

She yelled something. I couldn’t catch it amid laughter. Then:

"Clark, you’re not a fan of parties, I get it. But don’t decide for me. Sorry, I’m going—with or without you."

She hung up.

I pressed the phone to my chest. My heart shattered. She thought I was controlling. And I couldn’t tell her: I dreamed it. I saw the blood. Something is wrong.

The burning in my chest was guilt and fear twined together. I stared at the wall, willing numb calm into my body. It’s just a party. It’s my imagination. It’s not real.

But that dread echoed. I had seen it. And I couldn’t unsee it.

If Sara was going, I couldn’t let her go alone.

Fuck.

The word echoed in my skull like a warning bell, but my feet moved on their own. I pushed off the bed and marched straight to the tiny, sad excuse of a closet. My hands rummaged through the half-unpacked mess inside, searching for something—anything—that could pass as party attire. Not that I cared about how I looked. I was going because if something happened to her...

No.

I couldn’t let it happen. Not after what I saw. Not if there was even the smallest chance that dream wasn’t just a dream.

Behind me, I felt his eyes before I heard his voice.

"Where are you going?" Lucas’s tone was flat, but there was something behind it—something like quiet panic buried deep.

I didn’t look at him as I replied, yanking a black hoodie off its hanger.

"To the stupid fresher’s bash," I muttered, my voice sharp, shoulders tight. "Sara’s going. I can’t let her go alone."

Silence stretched. I felt it thicken the air like molasses, weighing on my lungs.

Finally, he scoffed—a dry sound, almost a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

When I turned, Lucas was staring straight at me like I’d grown a second head. Like I’d said I was going to wrestle a lion or take a dive off the library roof.

He shook his head once—sharp and slow—then shoved another forkful of noodles into his mouth and looked away.

"You really think you can protect her from them?" he asked, almost like it was rhetorical. Like he already knew the answer, and it terrified him.

I didn’t respond. Because maybe he was right.

Maybe I was an idiot.

But I couldn’t just stay back. Not after what I saw. Not if it meant watching her get drained in some cursed classroom, helpless and moaning like in my nightmare.

The hoodie slid over my head. My jeans were wrinkled. I didn’t care. I didn’t even check the mirror.

As I moved toward the door, Lucas finally said something again—so quiet, I almost missed it.

"Stay in the light, Clark."

I paused.

"What?"

He didn’t repeat it. He just went back to eating, his spoon clinking against the cheap cup, like my fate was already sealed and he didn’t want to watch it unfold.